Bohemian Rhapsody
by Positively 4th Street
Summary: It's War of the Office when corporate suit, Edward Cullen, clashes with his new assistant, free spirited bohemian, Bella Swan. Can two ends of a very opposite spectrum learn to work together... before they kill each other? AH.
1. Chapter 1

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended. **

**Side project, short chapter's, completely un-beta'd. Why the hell not, said I. I'm bored, stuck and antsy.**

**No offence is meant, the writing is purely for comedic value only and does not reflect my own thoughts or feelings in any way, so please remember that before shooting me an angry PM ;) **

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><p><em><span>Chapter One<span>_

I was not happy.

I didn't care for this _situation_ one little bit.

I, Edward Anthony Cullen, Chief Marketing Officer at EMG Sports Industries, was not in the least bit pleased with how this day was panning the fuck out.

There was a hippie in my office.

Now, not to sound like a total asshole, but everybody knows that hippies have no souls.

Alright, that's bullshit. They're just not really people.

That came out wrong. They are people. They're just not my kind of people.

Like her, the hippie in my office, she was just all wrong. Wrong for my office, wrong for me. Completely and utterly wrong.

She hadn't even attempted to cover up her flower power ways, she was blatantly advertising them. There was no expensive suit in sight, no proper attire befitting the assistant of a CMO earning $300,000 a year. Instead, she was dressed in a grey cotton shirt, a skirt that gave me a headache to look at and a pair of worn brown boots. Totally unacceptable.

"I bet you're just dying to go in there and make friends."

I shot Jasper a cutting look and returned to my glaring. Maybe I could glower her zany ass the hell out of my office without actually needing to, you know, speak to it.

"Now before you storm in and start pulling on her pigtails, she graduated from Seattle University with a BA in Business Administration and Marketing and did her MBA in Marketing straight after it. She's been working as an assistant to Demetri Grant over at VSR for three years and her references would have pissed gold if possible. Emmett would really like to keep her on and see her progress, so play nice."

I felt my eyes widen. "It's educated?"

Seriously?

It didn't even look like she'd brushed her Goddamn hair!

Jasper sighed. "Edward, you've fucked and chucked the last two. I think Emmett may actually kill you if you screw this one up."

I blinked at him. Twice.

"You seriously expect me to work with it?"

"Not 'it', Edward. Her. We expect you to work with her. Her is Bella. Bella is very pleasant. I'm sure you'll get along just fine providing you can pull your head out your ass before going in to meet her."

"Who the hell fucking hired her?" I reeled. "Are they blind?"

My skin was starting to itch just looking at her. This would never work.

"So she's a little... eccentric," Jasper waved off casually, as if this wasn't the mother of all disasters. "Who cares?"

"I care! Who in their right mind is going to take me seriously if they can't get past her desk for laughing?" Christ, I had a meeting at three! "Look at her Jasper! There are colours not even in the rainbow on that skirt!"

"You're being dramatic."

"She has blue streaks in her hair!" It came out louder than intended, and what with my hand suddenly jabbing in her direction, I don't think anybody within a miles radius was left clueless about our discussion. Including the hippie, who was now facing toward us, frowning.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

"Just smile and wave," Jasper ground out, barely moving any facial muscles. "Smile and wave."

He could stick his wave up his ass and play finger fiddle with his tonsils. Tool.

I scowled at her through the glass only to have her frown deepen. And then she was walking toward the door – my door. She could keep on walking, I'd gladly supply directions.

"Mr. Whitlock, lovely to see you again." She was smiling, holding out a small hand for him to take, which he did, with a little too much enthusiasm if you ask me.

"Jasper, please. We're very informal around here, aren't we Edward?"

I sneered at him.

"Edward?" Her head swivelled toward me, that damn smile still in place. "Edward Cullen?"

I suppose she was pretty, in a mousy, bookish sort of way. She was no head turner though, average at best. I didn't like average. I didn't like those blue streaks either. They had to go.

"Mr. Cullen," I corrected brusquely, straightening my jacket.

She raised her eyebrows, turning back to Jasper. "Apparently not so informal."

Jasper laughed. Fucking _laughed_.

"Don't mind Edward, his anal retentiveness was fused with his DNA at conception. You get used to it."

I grumbled under my breath and waited for _it_ to turn back to me. We needed to have words.

"Well," she breezed, rolling her shitty coloured eyes my way. "I've already called to confirm your three o'clock with Jefferson-Michaels. I took the liberty of checking your diary, I hope you don't mind. Your luncheon with Stanley House is now booked at the Dahlia Lounge, table for eight at twelve thirty as per your notes. Your appointment with Bree is still on, though I moved it from two thirty to eleven, just in case lunch was to run a little late. I spoke to Peter from finance who told me he'd have the figures back to you by the end of the day, and the drycleaners told me your suit was ready for collection - the 'fucking wine' did come out."

Jasper's face was smug, amused.

"Oh, and before I forget! Heidi's looking for you."

"I bet she is..." Jasper snorted.

I ignored him, for now. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

"That hair," I flitted a finger up and down in her direction, exuding seriousness while cringing, "that has to go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended. **

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><p><em><span>Chapter Two<span>_

"I don't care."

"I do."

"Well I don't."

"Well I do."

"Edward," Emmett raked his palms across his face roughly, leaving little pink finger marks all over his chubby features. For a guy who'd made a killing in the sporting goods industry, he sure was getting fat. I mean, for Christ sake. It's not as if he couldn't get a rowing machine on discount. "You do not get rid of someone like Bella just because the way she dresses offends your banalities. Have you even looked at her résumé, her references?"

"I don't need to, I just need her gone."

"It's your own fault for pushing. That one isn't going to simply roll over without a fight, she has a brain."

"She deliberately disobeyed me."

"Disobeyed you?" He scoffed. "What is she, a dog?"

"A dog would be better."

Emmett groaned.

"She stays. Get out my office."

"But the hair!"

"Is your own doing!" He yelled. "Leave the poor girl alone."

I growled, practically stomping from the office and slamming the door behind me. Apparently, I'd have to fix this growing-ever-larger problem _myself_.

The whole week had been one dire catastrophe after another. The hippie wasn't working out, at all. Leave it to Emmett and Jasper to hire quite possibly, the most frustrating woman ever to have walked to planet and place her in my office. She kept moving shit. My appointments were constantly being rearranged, she hijacked my diary so much that I could no longer claim ownership and contrary to what she would have me believe, my stapler _was_ missing.

Oh, and it got worse. Let me count the ways!

Jesus Christ, the clothes. It was like Woodstock had vomited all over her. And if she thought for a single second that she wouldn't be getting a swift rebuttal for having not removed that Goddamn tie-die 'throw' from her chair yet, she was sorely mistaken.

The smell. It made my stomach churn. You didn't even need to see her in the mornings to know that she was already in. The hazardous wafts of incense lurked like thick, seeping mist the minute you walked through the main lobby doors. And it clung to everything. My dry-cleaning bill had rocketed, all because Miss Jimi Hendrix 2010 had to seemingly take dry smoke baths in jasmine and musk and fucking patchouli.

The yoga. After work drinks with any of the office hotties were now firm no-goes. Why, I here you ask? Because flower power had converted them all into wannabe bendy freaks of nature. Allegedly, spending an hour trying to tap into your calm, inner you with instructor 'Ziggy' was now more important than having a rich CMO ply you with alcohol and proceed to ramrod you into orgasmic bliss. Personally, I thought the post-sex mood was pretty fucking calm myself.

The scooter. She 'drove' an electric, mint green, deplorable piece of shit scooter. Need I say more? You could hear it farting along the roads half an hour away.

The hair.

I had to do a mental count to ten and breathe deeply.

Having asked her all week, somewhat specifically, to never come to work with blue hair ever again, what did she do? She sauntered in this morning with purple streaks in her hair, looking the picture of childhood innocence I might add. It would seem I hadn't been Goddamn _specific_ enough. I'd spent the entire morning getting crap all done while I twitched. I didn't know whether to take a shoe to the beehive she was sporting or lay down a snuggle blanket for it. It looked like a living, breathing animal.

Everything about her offended me. Everything. And she made no sense. She was intelligent but clearly not very ambitious, she'd attended graduate school because she, 'enjoyed being a student so much', and while the hair and the clothes and the smell all screamed 'far out man', she'd studied business and was working within a corporate field. Not only that, but I caught her eating a Big Mac on Wednesday. Didn't hippies live in trees and eat berries and sing songs on their self-made banjos or something? Didn't their hippie code actively reject all forms of capitalism? Seemingly not, judging by the way she'd sunk her teeth into half a cow two days ago – while in a marketing suite.

"Morning Edward!" She chimed, far too happily as I rounded the corner. If she wanted to stay here, she'd need to work on her miserable side. Her chirpiness unnerved me.

I skulked past her desk, already feeling itchy, when something caught my eye.

I stopped dead, turning slowly.

"What in the name of sweet Christ is all this?"

"Hmm?" She smiled up at me. "Oh, cool, aren't they? They're called Hairy Babes."

Hairy Bab-

_What?_

"Are you challenged?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't know what kind of office Grant's running over there, but I can assure you, Begonia-"

"Bella."

"Whatever," my jaw clenched. "I don't want any cacti anywhere near mine. Is that understood?"

"According to office policies set out by Mr. McCarty, employees are allowed personal artefacts on their desks."

"Then buy a lamp! Better yet," I pulled out my money clip, "here's a twenty, go buy a brush."

First she comes to work looking like Berrrr the cave girl and sets up camp with her tie-dye hide, now there's foliage? What next, a fucking fire pit? She could skip McDonald's altogether and start roasting live cattle right fucking here.

Her wide eyes remained trained on me as she twisted one of the plant pots my way. I glanced down to find that it was, quite literally, pulling a shocked face at me.

Her foliage had expressions.

This was the woman Emmett expected me to work with – the woman with this absurd potted piss sitting on her desk.

My twitching resumed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended. **

**Phew! Christmas shopping now complete. Where were we?**

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><p><em><span>Chapter Three<span>_

I stared dejectedly at my desk, my eyes bobbing from one item to the next.

Printer, paper holder, Mac, pot of pens – four black, four blue, two red – hole punch, space where my stapler _used to be_, mail rack, desk lamp.

Har-fucking-umph!

I bet Belinda had taken it – snatched it from right under my nose and hidden it in her nest-O-hair until quitting time. She'd probably stripped it and sold it for dope by now. Thief. While her and her tree friends all got baked this evening, I'd want to gauge my eyes out staring at the evident gap on my Goddamn desk.

The world was crumbling. My desk had a gap and hers was slowly growing a forest. Like I said, crumbling.

I watched through the large, glass panes as she bustled about, the turquoise of her sack-like dress clashing with the purple in her hair.

I shuddered.

The woman was weird. And colour-blind, apparently.

I worked through lunch somewhat efficiently. Emmett had just bought out a steadily dying brand and it was being left to yours truly to figure out how the hell we were going to reinvent it. Personally, I thought scrapping it all together would be more successful. It would never be a top contender. But as always, McCarty and his fat head of ideas wanted to branch out further and tap into as many new markets as possible.

A knock on my door had me glancing up wearily at half two, the pungent waft of patchouli alerting me to _her_ presence in _my_ office. She never waited for me to say come in. To say that it grated on my nerves would be an understatement.

"Edward, the meeti-"

"Mr. Cullen!" I snapped.

Jesus. MBA my fucking ass.

"Mr. Cullen," she corrected. "The meeting's due to start in ten minutes."

"Yes, yes," I waved her away. "Fine."

"Um... Jasper – Mr. Whitlock, he called down and asked that I be there as well."

I glared. At her.

Jasper was getting socks for Christmas.

"Have you found my stapler yet?"

She shuffled her feet. Guilty. She had to be guilty. It was in the hair. "No. But rumour has it there's a pool going to see how long it'll take you to find it."

Well, she got ten out of ten for honesty. Bullshit always chafed. On the other hand, this new information didn't bode well for me. They were enjoying my gap hell. Bastards.

My teeth gnashed together. "I see."

I stood up, collected the documents needed for the meeting and stalked her way. The smell was nauseating. She was trying to kill me, I was convinced of it. Death by incense with intent.

"Shall we? There's a room full of people waiting to be blinded by your dress, Belinda, let's not keep them waiting."

For the first time since her useless appearance, I saw her eyes flash with... something. Boldly, her eyes narrowed and she took one step toward me. I held my breath.

"I think I'll forgo the brush and invest your money instead," she whispered. "Twenty bucks says you don't ever get it back."

My fingers tensed around the documents in my hand, almost cramping painfully as my fingernails threatened to pierce right through the papers.

How fucking dare she!

"I think it would be in your best interests to remember who you are talking to!"

Her features smoothed, a sickeningly sweet smile overcoming them.

"Of course, Edwin. _Shall we?_"

She was already out the door and half way along the corridor by the time my shock had worn off enough for me to shout, "Edward! No... fuck. Mr. Cullen!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended.**

**Hoping to cram in another chapter tonight, if not, tomorrow.**

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><p><em><span>Chapter Four<span>_

Peter Mitchell had a knack for using a lot of words to say very little. The man just went on and on and fucking on. Numbers this and numbers that. I loathed the finance department. They lacked vision, and brains beyond their stupid numbers. And alright, I wasn't a particular fan of being told, 'No, Edward, that wouldn't be possible. You have to consider the costing aspects of blah, blah, _blah_.'

Condescending piece of... I won't finish that sentence.

Telling him to shove his numbers up his urethra had the entire room scowling at me for being, 'a prick', but I took it, because let's face it, sometimes a person just needs to be told that they're a ridiculous twat capable of working a calculator more efficiently than their own dick. That sentence, I did finish.

That earned me another warning from Emmett. My mind was like a rapidly filling prison cell wall with all the countdown 'warning' ticks I'd marked up. Emmett's maths could certainly do with a little brushing up; I was a fair few warnings over my original limit. The fat was starting to eat his brain, I was sure of it.

Suffice to say, the meeting wasn't going very well.

"Alright!" Jasper barked, clearly sick of Peter's infantile bickering with me, the man who'd argue the colour of shit if he felt so inclined. "Peter, your concerns have been noted. Edward, could we perhaps dial down the hostility?"

An odd choice of word. I didn't think honesty necessarily equated to hostility, hating the man with every fibre of my being aside, of course.

"Um, Jasper?"

I groaned.

"Cram it, Edward. I mean it." Jasper's steely glare rounded my way before softening on Janis Joplin's reincarnation. "Something you'd like to add, Bella?"

"No, there's nothing _she_ would like to add."

"Well, actually Edward-"

"Are you dense?" I snapped, glowering at her.

With widened eyes, she began to stutter, "Uh... Well, I..."

Eloquent, wasn't she?

Higher education certainly hadn't been wasted on her.

"_Uh... Well, I..._" I mocked harshly. "You know, for somebody who claims to hold an MBA, you're fucking God-awful at remembering small details. If Mr. Cullen's proving too difficult for you, then don't bother having opinions or questions to voice, Bertha."

"It's Bella."

"I don't care!"

"Well I do." She levelled my gaze. "If small details are too hard for you to remember, then perhaps holding down a CMO position here is unwise. And I don't claim to have anything; copies of my academic certificates can be found in my file, which incidentally, is still sitting on your desk waiting to be looked at."

My jaw ticked.

Just who the hell did she think she was?

I turned, rather violently, towards Emmett. "Now do you see what I have to put up with?"

The chubby oaf smiled.

"I want her gone."

"Want away, Bella's going nowhere."

Oh, we'd see about that!


	5. Chapter 5

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, no copyright infringement intended. **

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><p><em><span>Chapter Five<span>_

I opened one eye to find the alarm clock blazing a neon blue 03:47 at me. As my sleep addled brain collected itself, the relentless pounding on my front door continued.

"Go away!" I threw a pillow over my head, determined to ignore the culprit.

So much for a peaceful night sleep.

The banging persisted.

"Go away, go away, go away!"

Six hours, that's all I wanted. A straight, six hour sleep. I wasn't asking for eight, no, no. Just six. Judging by the fists determinedly hammering away, I wasn't allowed them. I had given up the opportunity to go Friday night vagina diving to come home and sleep instead. The hippie had exhausted me this week; I needed to recharge the old batteries. And just what did I get for abstaining?

"Edward!" The hollering began. "Edward! Open up! Edwaaaaaaard!"

I'll tell you what I got; I got landed with Alice, my royal fuck up of a sister, beating down my door at nearly 4am. I think someone 'up there' was screwing with me.

"Open the damn door!" The literal kicking in of said door began. "Edward!"

I didn't want to answer. I wasn't going to answer. No, I'd stay here. Right here. She could fuck off. I wasn't moving.

As I watched the minutes flicker by, she grew angrier.

I'd need to replace my door again, I didn't like dents.

"I know you're in there!"

I started to get pissy. The meeting earlier on had been about as successful as a recovering drunk's first visit to a liquor store. I was yelled at for smoking inside the building, again. I was yelled at for interrupting Janis every time she opened her trap. I was yelled at for yelling at Peter. I was yelled at for telling Peter to suck my dick. I was yelled at for mentioning how shit Tanya, Emmett's PA, was in the sack. I was yelled at for trying to coax Heidi, Jasper's PA, into the sack. I was yelled at, _many times_, for my, 'atrociously bigoted attitude'. Oh, and Emmett fucking flipped when I put my feet up on the table. I'd never noticed how many veins the fat freak had in his neck before. Made me cringe.

Basically, there was a lot of yelling.

I had a headache.

And a hippie.

And now there was Alice.

I couldn't catch a break. My life was falling into disrepair.

With the growing anger of a teased jungle cat, I threw off my quilt and stalked toward my front door. I managed to stub my big toe on the coffee table and knock over a lamp on the way. I was going to kill her.

The pounding was constant, and I didn't need to see to know that she was stood out there, drumming her fists against the wood like a toddler pitching a royal fit.

Naturally, I wrenched the goddamned door open with the force of a tsunami.

Naturally, Alice's fists were still going ninety to the dozen.

Naturally, they both connected with my nose.

"Jesus, _fuck_!"

My vision went blurry.

I screamed like a little girl.

"Take a little longer why don't you... fucking asshole!"


End file.
